


Spooge Peach

by Marauder_the_Slash_Nymph



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, South Park
Genre: Eric Cartman Being An Asshole, Gerald has a secret, Humor, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Listen To This Drivel, Poor Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Satire, Shelly Marsh is a CMBYN fan, Surprise Ending, What What WHAT?!, With Apologies To Some Historical Figures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marauder_the_Slash_Nymph/pseuds/Marauder_the_Slash_Nymph
Summary: Cartman's opinions about Jews become even stranger after he watches "Call Me By Your Name."





	Spooge Peach

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. For optimal humorous effect, read the dialogue out loud in the characters' voices.

It was a sunny fall morning in South Park, Colorado.

“So, Kyle,” said Cartman, sitting down next to Kyle on the school bus. “I have some questions about your summer vacation.”

Kyle blinked. “My summer vacation? You were there almost every day, Cartman.”

Cartman plowed ahead as if he hadn’t heard him. “You see, Kyle, last night I watched a movie with my mom, and I’ve learned _all_ about Jews and their summer vacations. How many spooge peaches did you make?”

There was a split second of silence. “_What_?” Kyle yelped.

“Spooge peaches, Kyle.” Cartman sat back, looking very pleased with himself. “My mom and I watched this movie _Call Me By Your Name_, and there are these Jews, and one of them shoots his spooge into a peach, and then the other Jew, who’s like a million feet tall, tries to eat it. How many spooge peaches did you make, Kyle? Or are you the one who _eats_ the spooge peaches?”

“Wow,” said Butters, leaning forward from the seat behind them. “I didn’t know spooge peaches were part of your religion, Kyle.”

“They’re not!” Kyle yelled. “What the fuck, Cartman!”

“That’s not all, either, Kyle.” With a diabolical look in his eye, Cartman leaned over and whispered in Kyle’s ear. “_I know about the nosebleeds._”

“Wahuh budda nosblees?” asked Kenny from across the aisle.

“Glad you asked, Kenny.” As Kyle stared in horror, Cartman went on. “So the one Jew with the curly hair gets a nosebleed at lunch, and the other Jew asks if it was his fault, and then he kisses his foot ‘cause they’re gay. But here’s the thing, Kenny. The million-foot-tall Jew never even touched the curly-haired Jew’s nose at lunch. Why would he think the nosebleed could be his fault? There is only one conclusion to draw here.”

By now, the whole bus was listening. Tweek and Craig had stopped kissing in the back. Nichole and Bebe had looked up from their homework. Even Stan, sitting next to Wendy, had stopped in mid-vomit.

“It is clearly obvious to me,” Cartman announced, “that Jews have magic powers that allow them to make people’s noses bleed at lunch. So be afraid of Kyle, everyone. _Be very afraid._”

*****

By fourth period, Cartman and Kyle had been called to PC Principal’s office.

“Okay, uh, Eric and Kyle,” PC Principal began, his folded hands resting on top of his desk. “I’ve been hearing about this spooge peach thing, and Eric, you need to know that kink-shaming is _not okay._”

“This isn’t about kink-shaming!” Kyle protested. “It’s about Cartman being an anti-Semitic douchebag who saw some gay movie and decided to use it to act like even more of a retarded asshole!”

“Why are you so opposed to me learning about the Jewish people, Kyle?”

“Jews do not make spooge peaches!” Kyle yelled. “And we do not have magic powers to make people’s noses bleed!”

“Hey look, a sensitivity reader!” Cartman exclaimed, pointing at PC Principal’s office window.

“Where?” As PC Principal turned to see, Cartman banged his face against the wall.

“My nose! My nose! Kyle gave me a nosebleed, PC Principal! He used his magic Jew powers!”

“You did it to yourself, fatass!”

“Kyle, did Eric consent to you making his nose bleed with your magic Jew powers?” PC Principal asked. “Because although it’s true that kink-shaming is not okay, it’s also true that consent is _very important._”

“Oh, Jews don’t understand that, PC Principal,” Cartman informed him. “Jews just, like, grab guys’ balls and then ask, ‘Am I offending you?’ I saw it in _Call Me By Your Name._”

Kyle screamed and stormed out of the office.

*****

When Kyle walked into the cafeteria, two boxes of Kleenex were on every table. Only Stan and Butters would sit with him.

“It’s okay, Kyle,” Butters said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “If you say you don’t make spooge peaches, I believe you. I mean, heck, we’re ten years old! We don’t even make any spooge.”

Kyle leaned back in his chair, staring morosely at the ceiling. “I never even heard of this fucking movie, and now Cartman’s using it to ruin my life!”

“It takes place in Italy in the eighties,” Stan said. “This guy named Elio wants to bone his dad’s research assistant, and then they finally do it, and Oliver, the research assistant, is like, ‘Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine.’ So they keep boning for most of the rest of the movie, and then Oliver goes home and gets engaged and Elio cries in front of a fireplace for, like, seven hours.”

Kyle and Butters stared.

“Shelly’s obsessed with it,” Stan continued. “She’s got pictures of Timothée Chalamet and Armie Hammer all over her bedroom.”

“Say, I think my uncle’s got an army hammer,” said Butters. “He was a mechanic in the Iraq War.”

“Why the fuck is Cartman watching some gay spooge peach movie with his mom?” Kyle demanded. “That’s completely fucking bizarre even for _his_ family.”

“It’s, like, critically acclaimed and stuff,” replied Stan. “It got an Oscar.”

“_That’s_ how you get an Oscar now? Shooting spooge into a peach?”

“Hey, that’s neat!” Butters exclaimed. “Do you fellas think I could get an Oscar if I stuck my weiner in an avocado?”

*****

In the middle of the night, Kyle woke with a start. Heavy breathing was coming from the chair on the other side of his room. Cartman sat there in the darkness, dressed in a blue shirt and short red swim trunks that revealed his bulbous thighs.

“Hello, Kyle,” Cartman rasped. “I’m seeing you at midnight. Don’t scream.”

“Cartman,” Kyle hissed, “either you get the fuck out of my house right this minute or I’ll – "

“I have an important question for you, Kyle.” With a click, Cartman lit a flashlight under his face. “How much do you know about the things that matter?”

“What?”

“The things that matter, Kyle. I know nothing. What do _you_ know about the things that matter?”

“What – " Kyle sputtered. “What things that matter?”

“You know what things, Kyle.” Cartman’s eyes were intense. “You _know_ what _things._”

*****

The next morning at breakfast, Kyle was just finishing his eggs when the phone rang. “Kyle, bubbeleh! For you!” his mother called from the next room.

Kyle went to the living room and took the receiver. “Hello?”

“Kyle?” Butters’s voice sounded scared. “I’m – I’m at the police station, Kyle. The cops say I’m going to federal prison!”

“Federal _prison?_ Butters, what – "

“Well, you see, uh, I thought it would be real neat to get an Oscar. ‘Cause maybe if I did something important, my dad wouldn’t yell at me so much. So I took a GoPro, see, and then I put my weiner in this papaya, ‘cause I didn’t have an avocado.”

Kyle groaned.

“Then I thought,” Butters continued, “well, who do I know who knows anything about winning an Oscar? And I thought of those Marlon Brando lookalike fellas, because I’m pretty sure Marlon Brando won some Oscars – "

“You gave the movie to _NAMBLA?_” Kyle yelped.

“Yeah, but you see, it was the wrong NAMBLA. And one those fellas was an undercover cop, and he says I made child pornography, and it looks like I’m gonna need a lawyer. Can I talk to your dad?”

*****

“Hold my calls, Kelly,” Gerald Broflovski said, going into his office and shutting the door. Above his desk, strings of peach pits hung like garlands.

It had all started after that time he and Randy Marsh had watched each other jerk off in a hot tub. That night, he’d received a call from the 7SP. The Super Secret Same-Sex Semitic Society of Spooge Peaches was expanding its international influence, and the bureaucracy was looking into forming a Colorado chapter. It didn’t matter that Gerald was straight, Big Gay Ol had told him. Watching a guy jerk off was just gay enough to qualify.

It was a tough business, making spooge peaches. You had to buy a year’s supply during the summer, freeze them through the next few seasons, and regulate your sex life so that you could make enough spooge to fill your quota. But continuing the honored tradition was worth it. Brian Epstein had made a spooge peach as the Beatles were performing on _The Ed Sullivan Show._ Allen Ginsburg’s first draft of _Howl_ was covered with peach juice and semen. After Harvey Milk’s assassination, the 7SP had removed four whole crates of spooge peaches from the back of his camera store. Gerald only hoped that someday his spooge peaches would find a similar place of renown in the annals of the Society.

But first, he had to deal with the problem.

His phone call was answered on the second ring. “Pronto.” Good, Elio had answered. This needed to go right to the top.

“Elio, it’s Gerald Broflovski. Eric Cartman knows.”

“What?”

“He knows about the spooge peaches, Elio. He knows about the nosebleeds. It’s only a matter of time before he has a cunning way of finding our weakest spot.” Gerald paused and took a deep breath. “I think we’re going to have to kill him.”


End file.
